18th street killer
by Wayne Grant
Summary: A one shot horror that might evolve if i get active again. A strange occurrence happens in 18th street, F-city. What might be the case here?


Reports of a heinous crime were submitted in 18th street, City F. The roaring sirens of police vehicles rushed through the temporarily forlorn streets, as the darkest of the night encouraged crimes beyond reasonable judgment. After crashing through a wire fence and blasting open the gates to a nearby alley, the vehicles abruptly stopped.

"We made it!" the younger, blond officer said as he dropped the radio, which blared of static noise and the voices of other fellow police men, and reached for his peaked cap from the back of the vehicle. Bullets of sweat rolled from the man's temples, as he strived to reach for cap hidden beneath piles of boxes previously home for pizzas and donuts. "You idiot." His partner, whose voice has grown husky and grasp turned firm yet frail with age, tapped the youth's shoulder and earned his attention. His hand hovered from shoulder to seat buckle, until the youth heard a _pop_. "It would be much easier to move without the seatbelt, you know." He says as he pats the man's back, unbuckled his seatbelt, and pulled the lever of the car door. The young police, on the other hand, felt a blush rise before sighing and reaching for his cap, and following the senior.

The senior stood with veteran eyes; his hands immediately reaching for a policeman's favorite sidekick, his gun. The man, with both hands professionally placed on the weapon, aims at the darkness as his eyes shift towards his companion. "Stay tuned." He says as the youth follows the senior's own preparations with his own. Thus the blond policeman opts to aim as well. "Witnesses tell they heard a scream just around the corner, exactly two minutes before our arrival. Maybe we'll catch them now, huh?" he confidently says as leather shoes tapped on moist concrete. The veteran officer rolls his eyes, as if to scoff at the man. "Stay on your guard. Remember, if it's a human murderer, we arrest them on the spot, or fight back. However, if it's _something else_… you know the protocol."

The young man swallows. He's only reported once or twice, and this would be his first live incident of murder. However, all accounts of crime he had experienced would be from human actions. To think of events done by the _others_… sent shivers down his spine. "Snap out of it, rookie." The young man breaks out of his trance. "We're going in."

The experienced officer runs forth, his leather shoes silently making their way through the darkness. There, in the corner of the alleyway, was a place darker than any other part of the alleys. Perhaps that was where the crime is being done. They still have time! The man walks to the corner, where he rested his back upon the wall, and attempted to scan the area with his peripheral vision. As expected, his heavily used eyes weren't perfect at all. He could barely see in the darkness and his cloudy vision thanks to his already weak eyesight. "Dammit." He says in an undertone, barely received by his young companion's ears. "What do we do?" he says to his senior, who winced in thought. "Well, there's no other choice, is there?" the man responds.

The older policeman skips to the middle of the alleys and aimed at the darkness, not sure where to aim. "This is the police, put your hands up!" he shouts as his companion follows. Darkness met both of the men straight in the eye. "I said put your hands up! This is the police!" the veteran reiterates as both men now raised guns with the intent to shoot. Silence filled the alleyway, and doubts began to rise if there was even anyone in the alleys besides the two police officers. Breath became short and heavy; perspiration dripped from their heads, despite the cool night breeze that kissed their brows. Finally, they saw a semblance of what they were facing. There shone a lengthy blade caked with crimson that pierced through the blanket of black. "He's wielding… a spear? No wonder." The youthful man squinted as he remained steadfast with his gun. The older officer, however, winced at the girth of the blade. He remained silent. Something was _off_. "Good, good, now release your weapon." The blond would motion his gun down and up.

The suspect pauses eerily, hiding within the blanket of shadow still. When, with a blur, a streak of blood and gore flies to the unsuspecting officers. "What the-" cries out the younger officer as he shoots at the flying piece. Fortunately, the bullets stopped the piece's momentum, and the two officers were given view to a severely abused subject. There, in front of them, was the skin of a seemingly young child torn from the abdomen and pierced by the bullets the officer shot. The blond's eyes widened as his stomach churned and the bitter taste reached his tongue. "Who... who are you?!" The senior, who held himself firm against the grotesque image, shot at the darkness and gave slight view to what they were dealing with. With the sparks of the bullets, the man's elder eyes caught the image of a tall figure covered to the teeth with bandages yellowed with age, pus, and blood. It was an odd image disturbing on its own; the figure was wrapped to the teeth with yellowed bandages and rotting flesh. Though it had the figure of a well built, slim man, it had garments of a dark singlet dress that ends right above the ankles to show a pair of doll shoes. However, what caught the attention of the senior the most were two things: the nonexistent hands which were replaced by two blades such as the one raised from before, and one eye. That eye, which vehemently impaled the soul with its obsession; indeed, the singular eye stared at the two; the kind of eye that would be filled with ecstasy with bloodshed.

The man's instincts screamed at him. "Run!" he runs to his companion as he shook him by the shoulders. The bewildered youth eventually came to his senses as he blinked away what he saw, and joined the veteran with his sprint back to the car. A cackle could be heard from behind as crimson fluid splattered into the streetlights. The red tint glowed as the officers entered their vehicle with haste. The young officer trembled tremendously as he grabbed hold of the radio and clicked it open. "We're at 18th street, I repeat, we're at 18th street. T-t-the murder scene was caused b-b-" the young officer would begin to stutter to an unintelligible burst of words before the veteran stole the radio from him. "We're at 18th street. There's a monster on the loose, and we're getting the hell away from here. We need backup, stat!" he shouts before a slash tears apart the engine of the vehicle, killing it with one swipe. "Dammit!" the veteran shouts as he kicks open the door and, hiding behind what was left of the vehicle, waited for the opportunity. On the other hand, the blond officer climbed to the backseat and aimed at the insidious terror that slowly walked forth. There, in the crimson light, was the tall figure now in full view. Entrails of a child followed his blade, and gore soaked his singlet and bandages. "D-d-die!" the young officer shouts as he aimed at the monster and fired! One, two, three, until his pistol's cartridge had been emptied. The officer cursed as he attempted to reload, but it was for naught. The demonic threat was, perhaps, invulnerable to bullets. With another slash of its massive blades, the creature tore away the policeman's arm. The young officer screamed in pain as he grabbed the bleeding stump and winced. All the while, the monster approached, ever so slowly.

"Do you copy!" the elder officer began to break into a state of panic. The noise of ripping and tearing filled his senses, as well as the subtle giggle of the monster and the bloodcurdling scream of his young companion. The young officer still had a lifetime ahead of him; perhaps he might have taken a gorgeous wife for himself, and raised a young boy or girl that would eventually have their own life as well. But that cannot be possible now. It can never be. Not against a creature that is beyond bullets and humans. Yes, they need someone beyond humans to finish something like *this*. The man heaves and sighs, knowing the hopelessness in the situation against the monster. "Please" one last plea is said to the radio. "Send a hero"

That was the last words heard from the two men.

Upon arrival of the other officers, their bodies were nowhere to be found. Only an unidentified blob of flesh scattered throughout the bloodied area were found, along with the destroyed vehicle.

A man comes into the scene, his beige coat swaying with the wind. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils; yes, a smell he was familiar all too well. He was greeted by the detective in the scene, who wore his own darker shade of a trench coat and a fedora. The detective was shorter than average, and compared to the man, was miniscule in comparison. "Thank you for coming." The detective motions for the man to follow as he raises the police line above them both and enters the crime scene. "I've heard this incident has been going on for a few days?" says the man as he takes a cigarette from his pocket and taps his other pockets for his lighter.

"Oh, smoking already?" the detective raises his brow at the man as he reaches for his own pockets and pulls out a metal lighter. He flicks it open and lights it, earning the thanks of the man as he bends down to have the stick lighted. "I can't blame you for smoking. I'm getting nauseous from all this gore recently." The detective says as his face winces in disgust. The scene was a violent one indeed; flesh on the walls, blood covering the streets, yet, no skin to be seen. The man took note of this odd trivia as he listened to the accounts as told by the witnesses.

The man hummed as he traced his finger on the walls and gazed at his fingers. "So, would the creature happen to look like this?" the man says as he pulls a piece of folded paper, unfolded it, and presented it to the detective. The sketch of a man wrapped in bandages and a bloodshot eye came to view. "Ah!" the man would take the paper from his hand as he gazed a bit more at the paper. "Indeed! All the reports of the witnesses were said to look like this!" the man would huff from his cigarette and puff out a cloud of smoke. "And don't tell me he's got blades for hands, and hunts children, of all victims." With these words, the detective became flabbergasted. How could this man know so much? Was the hero association really more advance compared to the police force? He couldn't quite wrap it around his head, but he made sure to have a response. "Yes, sir."

"Then it's him." The man would turn around as he walked away from the crime scene, as if he had seen everything that needed to be seen. "Eh? Are you sure about that, sir? We might have a few more evidences for you!"

"It doesn't matter." The man would abruptly stop and look at the detective from over his shoulder. We've had plenty of information regarding this man for over a few years now. We thought he was merely an urban legend, but with this information, I guess it's not." The man pauses, awaiting for the detective to digest what he just said. "We're taking over this matter."

"What!" the detective shouts. The audacity of this man to take away their cases! Then again, their bullets couldn't even harm the monster. How could they possibly hold on to their pride? "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. Royal Ripper is a demon level threat. Although the A-class heroes are competent enough to try, I'm taking this as my own. So rest assured."

The man walks forth, his steps confident and his coat waving valiantly. "I am the S-class hero, Zombieman. I'll be taking care of this."


End file.
